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  Thyme for Murder

  Thyme for Tea Historical Mysteries

  Bettie Jane

  Copyright © 2019 by Bettie Jane and Auburn Seal

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  In a world awash with cruelty and a humanity drowning in despair, be a helper.

  Whether modern or historical conflict, it is the helpers who remind us what we fight, indeed, what we live for.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Lavender-Lemon-Thyme Cake Bites with Lavender-Lemon Glaze

  About the Author

  Also by Bettie Jane

  Also by Auburn Seal

  1

  “Mr. Mitchell Winnifred Abernathy Kennington, you’ve had quite enough cream for today. It’s barely ten in the morning. I can’t stay here and refill your bowl all day. I’ve got to open the shop at eleven. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were just taking advantage of me.”

  Lucy Brooks answered Mr. Winnington’s—as she usually called her for short—impatient meows with a couple more splashes of heavy cream in the dish that Lucy’s friend, Rose, gave her before she moved away to Bristol. The white ceramic dish had capital letters painted on the front of it.

  MAK, the W was silent. The patrons of her shop called her kitty Mak whenever the Persian deigned to visit downstairs.

  Mr. Winnington, a decidedly female, all white Persian with saucer-sized blue eyes, thanked her with a contented rub against Lucy’s leg. She gratefully lapped up the warm cream and then climbed into Lucy’s lap.

  “Oh, Mr. Winnington, what is this world coming too? It is simply too horrible to ponder.” It was too horrible to think about the war that might be inevitable. Lucy consumed the headlines whenever she got the newspaper in her small village of Kingsbridge—so named because somewhere around the tenth century a bridge was constructed that connected two royal estates—and the news continued to get worse as the days passed. Instead of the serene days she normally enjoyed tending her garden, visiting with patrons in her shop, or paddling her small boat in the estuary just outside town, every headline seemed to come at her and her way of life like a freight train bearing down on her in a dark tunnel.

  Her cat, even when begging for more cream, possessed an underlying serenity that was becoming more and more elusive for Lucy. She absently ran her fingers through Mr. Winnington’s thick, glossy, white fur and tried to absorb as much contentedness as she could, even while the voice from BBC’s newly formed Home Service was broadcasting news of catastrophe in Poland.

  German forces had invaded Poland, bombing cities, including the capital Warsaw, without so much as a declaration of war. There was no avoiding the reality that both Britain and France were mobilizing their forces in response.

  Lucy was not exactly a young woman any longer. She’d lived through the First World War as a young woman and lost many loved ones, including her very own true love. Since Captain Edwin Morrell was killed in action in the Great War, Lucy Brooks, never to be Mrs. Lucy Morrell, stitched her heart up tight and promised herself she’d never be so vulnerable to that kind of emotional devastation again.

  Lucy had the one of the upstairs windows cracked even though it was drizzling outside this September morning because she loved the smell of rain. The rhythmic sound of a train arriving at the station just outside of town pulled her thoughts from the Polish and back to Kingsbridge.

  “Oh my, Mr. Winnington. That’s the 10:30 from Bristol and here I am just sitting here with you as though I won’t have a shop full of people looking to warm themselves with our tea. Are you coming downstairs with me today?”

  In answer to her question, Mak jumped up and made her way to the purple, crushed velvet sofa near the small kitchen.

  “I see, playing coy. Well, I’ll leave the door open and you can join me if you like.” Lucy stood, retrieved a platter of today’s special thyme-themed pastries and took the narrow stairs at the back of her apartment down to her tea house, Thyme for Tea.

  She’d purchased this building from its previous owners when she’d come to Kingsbridge in 1925, nearly fifteen years earlier. She turned the downstairs into a tea shop and lived modestly upstairs. If anyone ever looked at her books, though, her secret would be out. Lucy Brooks had enough money that she quite possibly, no definitely, could have purchased the entirety of the town if she’d wanted, but nobody knew she had so much wealth.

  It was a secret that she was happy to keep. She was lucky most months to break even on the costs to keep the shop running, but what Thyme for Tea cost her in coin, it more than made up for in fuel for her spirit. She traced her hand along the doily-topped eclectic tables as she made her way to the kitchen and remembered fondly the conversations she’d heard or been a part of in the fifteen years since she’d opened for business.

  She set the platter down on the counter where her patrons would be able to see and then looked over her little corner of the world. Small jars with fresh flowers that she changed out every couple of days using the flowers from her larger-than-average garden decorated the baker’s dozen of tables that were scattered about the oversized room. Everything looked to be in place so she wandered toward the back of the house and checked the three rooms that could be reserved for private meetings—she had two of them booked for the day—and everything looked as it should.

  She unlocked the front door and turned the handmade sign to Open, then opened the windows and took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the smell of the rain. After allowing herself a few moments of appreciation, she peeked at her watch and saw that it was still a quarter to eleven and returned to the kitchen to start the hot water brewing for her own cup. Once the water was warming, she pulled out her recipe cards and selected from the various recipes containing thyme. She had plenty of scones and wanted to make something a bit heartier for the later crowd in tribute to the darker skies.

  Beef pot pie with thyme, rosemary, and black pepper. That sounded like just the thing to go along with weather. She’d need to go out to the garden later to gather some herbs and vegetables, maybe when her friend Janey stopped by after her volunteer time at the primary school. She often helped Lucy in exchange for a warm meal and even warmer conversation. Janey was a widow, her husband also lost to the Great War. If Janey heard the news about Poland, she’d likely be melancholy. Perhaps when she closed and the rains subsided, she’d convince Janey to wander down to the quay and row out together on Lucy’s little boat before it got to be too dark. Being on the water or anywhere out in nature did as much good for Janey as it did for Lucy.

  The bell on the door rang, announcing her first customer of the day, so she placed the recipe card on the counter and put the box back where she got it before making her way to the front of the shop.

  She rounded the corner and was both pleasantly surprised to see her neighbor and on edge to see the man who accompanied her. Lucy forced a smile on her face, despite her distaste for Geoffrey Harrison, Lizbet’s good-for-nothing, if very handsome husband.

  “Lucy, have you heard? Isn’t it simply awful?”

  Lucy gave Lizbet Harrison a warm hug, genuinely pleased to see her next door neighbor.

  “Lizbet, wonderful to see you. Geoffrey.” Lucy nodded in his general directi
on without bothering to make eye contact, knowing that she hadn’t managed to hide the frost in her voice. “The news from Poland, is that what you mean?”

  Lizbet nodded. “We were just listening to the radio. It’s awful. They said there were many Polish cities hit. Can you even imagine? The poor children. They must be terrified.”

  Lucy could well imagine and in fact worked quite hard not to imagine the current Polish plight because it truly was simply too terrible.

  “Come in, I’ll make you some tea. Do you want a lemon-thyme cake bite? I’ve got the perfect tea to pair with it.”

  Geoffrey frowned and spoke for the first time. “We don’t have time for all of that, Lizbet. Come, wife. This little scuffle in Poland better not interrupt my hunting plans. I need to talk to Albert.”

  Lizbet shrugged apologetically at Lucy, who smiled and waved as the unlikely couple exited the shop without another word. Lucy suspected that Geoffrey might be physical with Lizbet, who was simply the sweetest woman that Lucy had ever encountered. No woman Lucy had ever met deserved to get roughed up by their husband, but Lizbet especially didn’t.

  Lucy balled her fists in anger. She was ever frustrated by the Harrisons. She’d never seen any marks, but sometimes Lizbet would wear clothing that was entirely too modest for hot days, like gloves or a scarf in the middle of the warm season, and Lucy was beginning to suspect she was covering bruises. She’d made up her mind to say something to her the next time she got Lizbet alone, but that was a rare occurrence. Something Lucy was certain was no coincidence on the part of Geoffrey. Whatever it was that was going on in that house, Lucy didn’t have a good feeling about it.

  She set her mind to thinking of imaginative ways she could get Lizbet away from Geoffrey. He didn’t work as he’d inherited quite a sum of money when his parents died so he was too idle with his time to leave Lizbet any of her own alone time. Although it broke Lizbet’s heart that they hadn’t had children yet—they were much younger than Lucy and Janey—Lucy felt that it was likely a blessing in disguise. She couldn’t imagine raising a child in the company of that man. Geoffrey gave Lucy the chills.

  She wondered if perhaps Lizbet would accompany her and Janey on a boat ride. Her small skiff didn’t look like much because she’d ordered it new from the manufacturer but paid an extra penny or two in order for it to arrive looking quite aged. In reality, it was in perfect working order, but she was determined to keep her wealth a secret while still enjoying its benefits.

  Yes, that would be her purpose today. To comfort what was certain to be an anxious Janey and get Lizbet away from Geoffrey and determine once and for all if she was safe with her husband or if she needed rescuing.

  One thing that Lucy Brooks had become quite good at over the years was rescuing lost souls, whether human or animal.

  2

  “Janey, I was hoping you’d stop by today. How’re the children at the school? Have they heard the news?” Janey’s normally happy countenance was clouded today. Lucy could see tension around her deep brown eyes and a bit of a furrow in her brow. She’d definitely heard the news of Poland.

  It was nearly 1pm and usually Janey arrived closer to noon. Lucy had gone back and forth in her mind about whether to bring up Poland or wait and let Janey be the one to bring it up, but in the end decided that she would because of course they were both thinking about it and Janey definitely would have heard about it at the school. She worked nearly every day, finding solace from her own loss by spending time with children.

  Still, despite the weariness in her face, Janey smiled and hugged Lucy warmly.

  “I’m sorry I’m later than usual. I hope you weren’t counting on me.”

  “Not at all, dear one. I only needed to pick some things from the garden for today’s supper, but one of the sisters from the abbey was here and given the option to tend the shop for me or pick a few green beans and carrots, she chose to spend her time in the garden.”

  “Oh, was it Sister Maria? I love her.”

  “No, actually, it was Sister Therese, the more…er, how can I say?”

  “The mean one?” Janey asked and they both laughed, a release they both needed after the weighty news of the day.

  “Yes, I suppose you could say that. However, she picked all this produce for me and then even offered to peel and chop before she had to return to their meeting and then the abbey. I don’t suppose it would be very neighborly of me to refer to her as mean after all of that, do you?”

  Janey sobered. “I suppose you are right about that. How wonderful of her to offer such a basic kindness on a day like today when we all simply want to run and hide from the boogey monster. I know I could go back to bed without much trouble.”

  “Instead of bed, I’ve got just the thing. Lemon-thyme cake bites. Our Indian Black tea with milk and honey pairs wonderfully with both the thyme and the lemon.”

  Janey dropped into a plush chair by the window, her favorite spot, and smiled a weary smile at Lucy. “I can’t stop thinking about the poor Polish people. What they must be going through. Have you heard any reports on the numbers of dead?”

  Lucy brought a pastry and a pot of hot water, two cups and milk and honey and sat across from her. The shop was empty save for Janey, and Lucy’s feet—and spirit—could use the reprieve.

  “Nothing yet.”

  Janey nodded, indicating she’d heard Lucy’s answer, but there wasn’t much to say about it. “Perhaps we can pin our hopes on the Germans sticking with the military and government installations and staying away from populated areas?”

  Lucy nodded. “Perhaps.” They both knew that wouldn’t be the case. War wasn't about being kind to your enemies. They’d all learned that the hard way in the Great War.

  Weighted silence of things unsaid filled the air between them, interrupted only by the sipping of tea and the soft clang the fork made when it scraped the small plate as Janey cut into the dessert. Occasionally, Janey would make a small noise of enjoyment as she chewed but they didn’t speak at all until she’d completely finished her dessert and the strain on her face lessened.

  Once Lucy was satisfied that Janey was more herself, she decided to change the direction of the conversation.

  “Lizbet was in today,” Lucy said, watching Janey’s face for a reaction. She showed none, but her hand stopped with her teacup halfway to her mouth. “I’ve been stress baking ever since they left.”

  “Oh? Was she by herself?”

  “Ha,” Lucy exclaimed. “Not hardly. That man never leaves her alone.”

  “I don’t like it,” Janey said, now sipping her tea again slowly.

  “Nor do I. I think there is something more happening there.” Lucy leaned in and lowered her voice to a whisper even though nobody else was in the shop at the moment. “Do you suppose he hurts her?”

  It wasn’t the most unusual thing for a man to be a bit rough with his wife, but no matter how socially acceptable, that sort of violence between two people who supposedly loved each other as man and wife sent chills down Lucy’s spine. Her own Edwin, and she suspected Janey’s sweetheart as well, had never laid a hand on her or so much as raised his voice.

  While Lucy was certain that Lizbet wasn’t the only woman in town to see the rough side of a husband’s tongue and probably hand as well, she was the only one who—as far as Lucy knew—was Lucy’s friend.

  “I hate to accuse,” Lucy went on confiding in Janey, “but what kind of friend would I be if I suspected that she was being hurt and I did nothing to try and stop it?”

  “You make a good point. My dear husband beat the tar right out of one of our neighbors—of course it was many years ago—because he’d overheard him beating on his wife. I heard him through the walls, my Johnny. He used a tone of voice I’d never before heard him use before and only a handful of times after. The words he spoke, my goodness, I can still remember them like it was yesterday. He said, ‘Roger, I don’t care what you think about your wife, if I ever hear you or hear of you hurting a wom
an again, I’ll kill you with my own two hands.’ They lived near us for two years before he went to fight. I don’t think in all that time that man ever lifted another hand to his wife. And, as a wonderful bonus, his wife brought us treats around weekly. I think she was just so grateful that Johnny intervened.”

  “Sounds like a happy ending. We are decidedly short a man willing to threaten murder, though. I’m not certain Geoffrey would respond as well as Roger did with only a threat from you and I. Somehow, I doubt we induce much terror.”

  Janey laughed. “You make a wonderful point. Perhaps, our first step should be trying to get Lizbet alone so we can ask her directly if he’s hurting her. I’m not certain she’ll tell the truth, but I think we might be able to see the truth in her eyes. Either way, we don’t want to threaten a man with his own death if he’s done nothing wrong.”

  “I’d bet a good deal of money, if I had much, that Geoffrey is not an innocent man.”

  “As would I. Now, how can we get Lizbet on her own?”

  Lucy looked at the window and noticed that the rain had dissipated and was replaced by the soft September sunshine. “I considered inviting you out on the skiff since it does us both such good. What if we include Lizbet in our plans? There is only room in the skiff for three of us so Geoffrey cannot possible invite himself along.”

  “It could work,” Janey said, but Lucy noticed that her thoughts were somewhere else.

  “Something else is bothering you besides the war and Lizbet. What is it?”

  Janey looked at Lucy, opened her mouth and shook her head as though she was about to deny anything was bothering her, then nodded her head and looked down at her plate.